Locked Away
by The Magic Pocket Turtle
Summary: Experiment 262 Ace, a pure, good experiment little more than an embaressment to Jumba, is locked in a closet while Hampsterveil visits. Alone in the dark, he contemplates his existance. Oneshot.


Author's Note: This sort of popped into my head after the half-episode "Ace", when Reuben made that comment about how Jumba was embarrassed about creating an experiment that was "pure good", and locked him in the closet whenever company came over (well, he might have saidbasement, but I used a closet in this story.) So… Sit back, relax, and enjoy my piddling attempt at something almost like angst. But not quite. I don't think it's physically possible for me to write angst.

Experiment number 262 pressed a red, furry ear against the cold metal door. On the other side he could hear voices conversing in a manner that suggested that neither of the speakers were altogether pleased with their company, but were unwilling to voice these opinions aloud. Instead they spoke civilly, albeit with sheathed venom. 262 fervently wished his "father" hadn't locked him away in the basement, where he would be of no use should things get… out-of-hand.

His father. His gloved hands clenched into fists against the door. Ever since he had been "born", his father had completely ignored his existence, except for his increasingly feeble-hearted attempts to convince his malfunctioned "son" to perform some task of minor evil. After his seventh failed attempt to shoplift some horribly cheap balognea, his father, the esteemed Jumba Jookiba, had gone out of his way to ignore 262. He had dubbed him a "failed experiment", as far as his intentions had gone, and proceeded to embark on his next attempt at a truly evil, invincible creation.

In the meantime, 262 was left to his own devices. These devices generally involved subduing his hundreds of siblings, or "cousins" as they would come to be called, as they attempted to assault, maim, and occasionally kill their creator. In the vicious and often bloody battles, 262 was unceremoniously thrashed by his older relatives. This happened once or twice every week, and following each brawl, 262 would wonder hazily exactly how Jumba had survived before his own creation.

Despite his "son's" valiant efforts to defend his life, Jumba made no pains to commend his battered and beaten experiment, instead leaving 262 to nurse his wounds alone.

The failed experiment understood vaguely that his creator was ashamed of him. Exactly why though, he wasn't quite sure.

Either way, 262 had known for a while now that someone known as Jacques van Hampsterveil was coming for what Jumba had dismissively dubbed "a check-up". It was obvious that he held a great deal of contempt for the man, and 262 had felt his father's doubtful and ponderous gaze upon him during the speech he had made to the all but passive hoard of experiments.

The idea of someone else coming to "inspect" the experiments was thrilling for the weary red experiment. In his eyes, it was a chance to prove himself, to redeem his worth to Jumba.

The scientist had been hard at work on experiment 263, striving desperately to complete it before Hampsterveil's arrival.

262 had spent the same time pleading, coaxing, cajoling, and, when absolutely necessary, fighting with his cousins in an attempt to convince them to be on their best behavier. He had made only a little headway when the day of arrival came.

In the middle of his confrontation with experiment 136, Jumba approached him. "262."

The experiment spun around to face the four-eyes scientist. "Yes?" he replied.

"Come with me."

262 followed obediently as Jumba led the way across the lab, coming finally to a large door 262 knew led to nothing more than a closet. "There. Now, into closet."

"What?"

"Into closet. Now."

"But I-"

Out of patience, Jumba unceremoniously grabbed 262 by the scruff of the neck and tossed him into the closet, shutting it behind him. Struggling to his feet, 262 heard the ominous clicking that signaled that a lock was being keyed into place. "Am being sorry for this, 262, but is not time for showing of you to Hampsterveil."

"What? No, let me out! Please, let me out, I'll be good! Aren't I always?"

"Am afraid that is problem little one. You be quiet and stay in closet. Jumba will let you out when it is over."

Despite his following cries, 262 remained locked in the closet. He soon gave up, and sat alone in the dark, counting away the minutes as they passed, which inevitably led up to his ear pressed against the door, eavesdropping on the heavily accented conversation occurring outside.

"… And now, Jumba will show you his latest triumph, experiment 263. He-"

"263? You say you have here 260, 261, then 263? What happened to 262?"

"Eeh," Jumba's voice hesitated. "Experiment 262 did not survive the creating process. Is dead. Evil calculations were… a little off."

Hampsterveil's following angered outburst was drowned out by 262's own mounting despair. He sank to his knees. _Did not survive…_ He couldn't rationalize in his mind why Jumba would tell such a blatant lie. Despite his illegal activities and obvious inclination toward the immoral, 262 did not find Jumba particularly _evil…_ at least not in the strictest sense of the word.

He sat down, slumped, on the floor. Perhaps there really had been a mistake. Perhaps he truly was supposed to be evil. But…

He put his arms around himself. It was awfully dark in here.


End file.
